I heard Peter sigh, and then he said in a resigned tone, “Alright, Jess, I’ll be right there.”
When Peter got up to the office, his face had the look of a condemned man. He gave me a weak smile and walked in to meet his fate. “It’ll probably be my fate too,” I thought, “when Mr. Moffatt finds out what I did.”
The door to Mr. Moffatt’s office was open so Scott could join the meeting, and I don’t mind admitting that I was eavesdropping. But it still wasn’t easy hearing what was being said because of the loud beating of my heart.
Normally Mr. Moffatt was a real gentleman, but today there were no formalities. “What do you know about the shenanigans that went on at the Magnetadyne hospitality suite yesterday evening?” he demanded of Peter.
“Well,” Peter began, “after Expo formally ended, we all congregated back in the hospitality suite to unwind before going back to our rooms to pack. Then . . .”
Before Peter could continue, Scott Benson burst into the office, looking a little rough around the edges but wearing a smug smile on his face. I saw him give Peter a sneer before turning to Mr. Moffatt. “Sorry I’m late, boss, but the celebration last night got a little wild.”
Mr. Moffatt stared at him angrily. “And just what were you celebrating?” he demanded.
Scott looked at him oddly. “My team wanted to celebrate my promotion to VP to succeed you after you retire,” he said as though Mr. Moffatt was a school boy.
“What are you talking about, Benson? I haven’t announced any plans to retire.”
“Sure you did,” Scott replied cockily, “you announced it at the Executive Committee meeting yesterday.”
“I most certainly did not,” Mr. Moffatt burst out, “nor was there any discussion of any successor.”
I stole a glance at Peter. He wasn’t enjoying Scott’s discomfort because he knew where this conversation would inevitably lead.
But Scott was not to be dissuaded. “Of course you did,” he declared, and, pulling out his smartphone, he held it up and stated smugly, “I have your text message right here.”
Mr. Moffatt looked at him with astonishment. “I never sent you any such text,” he said flatly.
“Sure you did,” Scott said, activating his phone, “I’ll show you.” Holding the phone in one hand he used the other to call up the list of his text messages. Then he cursed and began to scroll frantically through the list. Finally he stopped and looked up. “It’s been erased!” he said angrily. “Someone must have deliberately erased it.”
I thought I spotted a faint smile on Peter’s lips, but when Scott turned to confront him, Peter’s face was a blank.
But Scott wasn’t through. To everyone’s astonishment he reached across Mr. Moffatt’s desk and boldly snatched up his phone. “Not even password protected!” I heard him mutter as he proceeded to call up Mr. Moffatt’s text message function. There was nothing listed. “Where are all your texts?” Scott demanded loudly.
I’d worked with Mr. Moffatt long enough to know that he was growing angrier by the second. “I don’t send text messages. If I want to communicate with someone, I call them.”
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